Fix Me
by AspiringArlene
Summary: Trinity yearns for a better life. She's tired of the constant abuse she's be enduring for years. She escapes to stay with her close friend, Rachel Black, where she meets her brother the breathtaking Jacob Black. But she's horrified of love from previous experience. Will Jacob be able to break through that wall? And will her past come back to haunt her? Jacob/OC.


**My first fan fiction. Hope you all like it!**

Prologue

You're never familiar with true suffering until you experience it. Breaking up with your boyfriend of two months in high school may seem like the end of the world, or maybe even the cancelation of your ultimate favorite television show. In reality, it's not. A new fling will follow, and it's easy discovering a new show; those things are inevitably replaceable, forgettable. At a time it might seem like you're suffering with something along those lines, but it's probably just an unfortunate instance that everybody in life is bound to go through. You'll get over it. It'll drift into the insignificant part of the back of your memory where you'll only occasionally remember—it'll never be extreme enough that it'll affect your life immensely.

Real suffering, on the other hand, you'll know instantaneously if you're going through it. You'll constantly feel cheerless and bitter—angry at whatever or whoever is the main cause for your incessant pain. The need to smile, to laugh, even sometimes to cry vanishes away from you. Seeing a reason in life seems pointless after a while. Every day drags by agonizingly slow, being forced to endure minute by minute, second by second, always dreaming of a better life you could have had; like the blissful and successful women across the street who every morning you watch head to a job she loves with a grin on her face, or the elderly man who's had his beloved wife by his side since he was twenty. Anyone's life starts to seem better than yours, different from what you've tumbled into and the dreadful prison you've been locked up in for years.

Most of all, suffering is definite when, despite how many people you're surrounded by, them caring for you or not, you feel utterly and heart-wrenchingly alone. The one awful circumstance that's acted like an ominous storm cloud looming over your head, pelting you with somber feelings and occurrences that are completely undeserved, rules over anything else in your life because of how horribly influential it is. Feeling alone in life isn't difficult when you're stuck and there seems to be absolute no way out.

"_Trinity_!"

My heart leaps in my chest and my fingers curl around the bed sheets. Footsteps from downstairs stomp boisterously around the hardwood floor until starting up the stairs. My eyes dart to the door, waiting for the inevitable, replaying what's happened so many times before and what's about to happen again in my mind—the relentless slaps, the kicks in my side when I'm already down, the heinous and forever haunting words. It's all so familiar with me, but yet there's never a moment that passes me that I'm unafraid. I've lived in fear for so long that I can't even recall what it's like to be without it.

_He'll tire eventually. He'll have to stop to take a break. Don't be scared._

The doorknob turns, and I am.

I am scared.

Chapter One

Trinity's Point of View

Apparently not many people in Forks hitch rides with strangers, because I've been sticking my hand out, my thumb raised, for at least ten minutes now without any response from any of the cars that zoom by—well, besides the occasional dirty look, but I don't count that. Back by the university, it didn't take me long at all to get someone to pick me up and drive me to forks. Unfortunately, that nice African American woman didn't know where La Push was, so all she could do was drop me off at the nearest gas station in Forks instead. Nevertheless, I still appreciated her quite a lot.

Finally, a rundown jeep honks and pulls over to the side of the road where I am at. Puffing out a relieved sigh, I yank open the passenger side door and hop it. The driver, a pudgy Caucasian man who has to be in his late thirties, nods at me. "Where to, darling?" he asks in a scratchy, slightly deep voice.

"La Push Reservation, please," I say. "You know where that is?"

"Sure. Don't know why you would be hitching a ride to that dingy place, but yeah." He revs up the engine and, after checking over both shoulders, mergers onto the road.

"I'm, uh, visiting a friend," I supply. But by the way he doesn't acknowledge my answer, I assume he truly doesn't care why. "I can pay you if you'd like. For giving me a ride, that is."

"Nah, it's fine. My parole officer says I should do nicer things. Guess giving a young girl like yourself would be an okay start."

How great—a ride from a strange guy who happens to have a parole officer. For what, I don't know. But then again, I'd rather go on without knowing.

To pass the time, I fish my only book out of my backpack and begin reading from where I left off. Like usually, though, my mind drifts off to other places. With a life like mine, it's hard to focus on something like an imaginary story. Impulsively, I glance over my shoulder to see if Owen's following me. Of course, he's not. It's like his presence follows me anywhere I go, no matter if he's actually near me or not.

A year ago, during the beginning of my freshmen year of college, I met Owen. He was wonderful at the time, going to awesome extents of getting me to go out with him; like gathering up a large group of people to hold up a sign that read in bulky capital letters TRINITY, MAKE MY FOREVER AND GO TO DINNER WITH ME THIS SATURDAY. With accomplishing something as sweet as that, and being rather attractive in the first place, Owen got his wish. He and I had an amazing relationship for four and half months. It's after that when things drastically changed for the worse.

It started off with verbal abuse only. Harsh words that hurt but weren't difficult to mistake for a phase or coincidental bad moods. Then it progressed. The words lead to a couple slaps every week, then more and more every time, until it was habitual for me to walk around campus with a black eye caked with make-up. Soon kicking became frequent, too, along with punching and aggressive grabbing of my hair and limbs. Yet that was nothing compared to what was to follow.

When _really _furious, which was far too often, he'd use a kitchen knife and torturously cut my legs and arms, sometimes even my face. He'd throw me a lot, too; into walls, against a table, so forcefully that once I got a concussion (had to lie to the doctor about that one). And, because all attraction with him was gone—and I'd refuse—he'd… _rape _me. So ruthlessly, painfully. He didn't care. Only if I screamed, then he'd stuff a sock into my mouth so no one would hear.

I would have told. The minute it became physical I would have. But once when I tried, he caught me and threatened that, no matter what, he'd find a way to murder me if I told a single soul. The fear I felt, the utter and inexplicable fear, kept me from calling the police or telling a friend. Hell, not that I had any, after all.

Starting three months ago, I took self-defense classes. They helped, I'll admit. I've improved extremely when it comes to defending myself. But not enough. I was still weaker, still cowardly around him, that fighting back did nothing but piss him off even more. All hope was lost at the point. I felt trapped in a cycle of agony, abuse, and _suffering, _never seeing an escape and convinced that I'd have to endure this for the rest of my life.

However last week I gained enough confidence to do something. To run away. My best friend, Rachel Black, graduated early last year, so she moved back in with her younger brother and father in La Push. We've stayed in contact over the phone, only not visiting each other. Me being afraid of her seeing me pitifully beaten up and her always too busy with her new La Push boyfriend, Paul. I didn't tell her my real reason though. She'd instantly call the police, and I can't let that happen.

I've dropped out of college and now I'm headed to her place. She doesn't know; I'm hanging onto the hope of her promise of always being there for me applying to her letting me stay with her, too. It's selfish, I know, to drop something on a person like that, despite how close, but I just don't know what else to do anymore.

Owen probably already found out I left. I sneaked out early this morning, only hauling along a backpack full of little clothing, a book, three hundred dollars from my savings, and other necessities I may need. He's defiantly enraged out of his mind, I'm sure, and pure terror coils in the pit of my stomach just thinking of what'd he do if he found me. It's a risk, I know, but it's worth it. I can't live a life consisting of so much unbearable pain and fear any longer.

This is my only shot, and I'm going to take it while I can.

"Hey, lady," comes the scratchy voice of my driver, knocking my out of my trance. Shaking my head a little, I blink at him. "What address you want me to take you to?"

Pushing my glasses farther up on my nose, I glance down at the scrap piece of paper I previously scribbled Rachel's address on and read it off to him. He grunts in response before turning left and, within only three minutes, we're pulling up to a house which I presume is Rachel's. After saying a quick goodbye to the creepy yet quite lifesaving man, I jump out of the car with my backpack swung over my shoulder. He drives off.

I face the house. It's cute, in a wilderness sort of way. The size isn't impressive, looking to probably only have fix or six rooms in total, but I'd rather that than an ornate, overly spacious mansion in which I'd have to thoroughly search for my room every night. Pretty bushes and flowers crowd around the patio, and a busy seeming garage branches off from the house. A motorcycle is parked inside of it, along with many tools and gadgets that I could never imagine using.

Taking a deep breath, I step up to the patio and tentatively knock on the door. Voices sound from inside for a few moments before the door is opened. An elderly man with obvious full-blooded Native American ethnicity in a wheelchair is there to greet me—must be Rachel's dad, Billy. He looks skeptical when he studies me, a thin eyebrow raised.

"Hello," he says, uncertainty coating his voice. "Who are you, my dear?"

"Uh," I croak out, and stop myself to nervously clear my throat before continuing, "Hello, sir. My name's Trinity. Is Rachel here?"

Something along the lines of worried defense comes across his face. "I'm sorry, but I won't say unless I have a better description of who you are, Trinity, because Rachel has never mentioned someone by that name."

"Oh, uh—"

"Is someone here for me, dad?"

My eyes snap up to behind Billy to discover that Rachel's stalking over to us. When she notices me, she stops abruptly in her tracks, seemingly taken aback, and then an elated grin stretches across her face. "Trinity! Oh my god!" she squeals, and before I can react, she's tackling me in a hug. For the first time in a long time, comfort from human contact fuels inside of me. I eagerly embrace her back.

"Hey, Rach," I say softly once we depart.

"What are you _doing _here?" I open my mouth to reply, but she interrupts me before I can say anything. "Oh, who even cares? I'm so excited to see you!" She pulls me into her arms again, and I try to suppress a flinch when she unintentionally jabs her palms into a bruise on my back.

Despite the slight pain, a genuine smile graces my lips. "Me, too. It's been too long," I say.

"Seriously!" Enthusiastic, she yanks me inside the house and, once Billy closes the door, begins introducing me to him. "Dad, this is Trinity, my best friend from college. Trinity, this is my dad."

He reaches one of his hands out toward me. Now that he knows I'm safe for his daughter, kindness colors his features all over and a smile is directed toward me rather than a dubious frown. "What a pleasure to meet you, Trinity. Obviously you're dear to Rachel if she's this happy to see you," he says, and gives Rachel an amused side-glance.

"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Black," I say, and shake his hand. His grip is incredibly firm for such an old man. "And yes, we were really close before she graduated."

"Close? We were like sisters!" Rachel says, and I laugh sincerely. This all feels so great; reuniting with Rachel after so long, meeting her amicable dad, laughing at her funny, peculiar ways. Already away from the horrid life I've known for so long for less than a day and I feel amazingly better.

Two hours later, Rachel and I are seated on her couch, talking and giggling like we used to back at the university. Considering we didn't get the chance to speak much on the phone, we go on about our lives since we last saw each other. Well, mostly she does, since I have nothing much I want to share. The protagonist of her life in La Push so far is her boyfriend, Paul. The way her eyes brighten up when he's the topic of conversation and how she can blabber on and on about anything that has to do with him, I can tell she's fallen in love. Real love, though. Not the love I thought I had with Owen. To add on to that, she has found a well-paying job at a diner, has made an assortment of wonderful friends, and has grown quite close to her brother, Jacob, and her dad. And, selfishly, I'm jealous. _So _terribly jealous. But I don't resent her for it; I'm delighted she's happy. When I first met her, she was still dealing with the death of her mother, and now I can tell she's improved immensely over time because of the stunning life she's been gifted here in La Push. It's good to see her like this.

"So, why'd you come here, Trin?" Rachel finally asks. I'd been dreading this question, but I've known it's inescapable. How would I ask her if I could stay with her without her questioning this first?

"Well, uh. First off, I wanted to see you." She beams at that. "And second, well… You know how I've always had difficulty with my family?" She nods. "That kind of interfered with my studies—a lot. So I ended up flunking out." It's not a total lie. My family and I haven't gotten along in years; that's why I'm not going to them for a place to stay. Although it's defiantly not the reason I'm no longer partaking college. That will stay a secret—for now, at least.

She gasps, and sympathy and bewilderment twists in her expression. "Oh, no, Trinity. But you were working so hard for your biology and teaching degree."

"I know, I know." The disappointment of my failed dream of becoming a biology teacher still tugs painfully at my heart. "It was entirely my fault for letting myself get so distracted, but my father and I have just been fighting so much lately, and I didn't have many friends at the university to help me get through it after you left… it was just super hard to deal with, I guess."

Guilt flashes in her eyes. "I should have been there for you," she whispers self-loathingly. "If I had just taken the time to come and see you more often, then—"

"No! Rachel, no. Don't blame yourself for this," I say sternly. "You've been busy living your life, a good life. I'll never blame you for that."

"But I still feel so awful for you, Trin," she says, and hangs her head. After a few seconds of silence, she lightens up like she always does when she has an idea and grins. "Are you saying that you need a place to stay?"

Reluctantly, I nod. "Yeah. Obviously, I lost my dorm." _Or the apartment I was staying at with Owen. _

"Then you cans stay with us!" she says. "We have an extra room, actually, because my brother's been staying with his friend Quil for a while now."

The fact that I didn't have to come out and ask her initially, and that she is so willing to let me stay with her, makes me so grateful of having an exceptionally tenderhearted friend like her. I thought it'd take so much more than that to convince her and the possible of her saying no haunted me the whole time I pondered my escape to here. If I were more of an affectionate person, I'd squeeze her until she couldn't breathe because of how happy she just made me.

Unable to help the smile that is permanent on my face, I say, "Are you sure, Rach? What about your dad? He—"

"You can stay here, dear," Billy interjects, rolling in from the kitchen with a smile of his own on his face. "I've raised my children to always help a person in need, especially a loved one. And to Rachel you are. We'd never leave a friend of Rachel's on the streets, so please, stay with us. Jacob wouldn't mind you if you use his room while he's temporarily moved out."

"Oh, god, thank you!" I cheer, hoping up to my feet, the elation rushing through me overwhelming. "I'll pay rent to help with the food, don't worry. I have some money with me already and I'll find a job as soon as I can, I promise."

Rachel and Billy shake their heads. "No, you don't have to," Rachel says.

"Yes, I do," I insist. "Really, I don't mind. It's the least I can do."

Shrugging, Billy nods. "Very well. I'm sure Rachel will help you find a job. It shouldn't be too hard."

"Defiantly!" Rachel says, and gets to her feet. "Come on. Let's go put some fresh sheets on Jacob's bed for you." And with that, she practically drags me toward the room furthest in the back, all the while chattering about how much fun we're going to have and everything we're going to do together. A smile stays on my face the entire time as I nod along.

xxxxx

Twilight has fallen upon us. Rachel retired to the kitchen to begin cooking supper and left me to pack away the little cloths I brought with me. After folding them into the drawers of the small dresser, I strip down from my jeans and long-sleeved teal shirt and leisurely change into sweats and a comfortable t-shirt. Stepping in front of the full length mirror that Rachel kindly hung on the door for me, I study my appearance. My dark ginger hair is pulled to the side in a long braid and minor freckles decorate my pale skin. This morning I, thankfully, had no need for makeup since any noticeable bruises or cuts on my face had healed recently. Wide framed classes are set atop my nose, and my drained, dull blue-gray eyes stare back at me in the mirror. They used to be bright as can be, like the sky on a sunny summer day, but ever since Owen's abuse started they've lessened, and now anyone could mistake them as plain gray.

Slowly, I lift my t-shirt. Grotesque purple and black bruises cover my stomach and sides, accompanied with several cuts and deep red marks. They're recent; merely two days old. My fingers trail gently over the most painful one on my right side and even that soft contact feels like needles stabbing into my skin. It'd gotten that one by Owen hurdling me into the corner of the wall with so much force that I saw stars and passed out. The pain's so intense that it even hurts to breathe. Fortunately, I'm able to hide my pain well.

I hurriedly pull my shirt down and look toward the door when shouting comes from what seems like the kitchen. Two voices; both evidently angry. One I pick out is Rachel's and the other is alien to my ears. To understand what they're saying, I crack up then door and creep into the hall. Hiding behind the wall, I peek over and eavesdrop.

Standing in the kitchen is Rachel, her face scrunched up in aggravation, and across from her, the one currently shouting, is a boy I've never seen before. No, scratch that; a _man _I've never seen before. My jaw drops slightly when I examine him. He's completely _gorgeous. _With his impressive bone structure, the mouthwatering muscles that bulk out from the short sleeves of his black t-shirt, his perfect and stunningly handsome face, his massive yet reassuring height of what has to be at least 6'5, and, lastly, his voice. It sends shivers down my spine—pleasurable ones. Despite it being loud with anger at the moment, I can just imagine how much more intriguing it must sound when he first wakes up in the morning, or even when he's just talking normally.

I want desperately to see more of him, to see his eyes, his lips, because all I'm able to make out is half of his face since his side is facing me. But I don't dare move. He and Rachel are in an awful argument, it sounds like.

"Would please you calm down, Jake? She's needs to stay here! There's nowhere else for her to go, don't you understand that?" Rachel hollers, her arms flailing around theatrically. My blood runs cold. That's her brother, and they're talking about _me._

"I don't give a damn! It's my room. No one should be staying in there!" Jacob yells with his fists clenched at his sides.

"You're so selfish! Ever since Bella you've been all about yourself. Get over it, and stop taking your anger out of everyone around you!"

He lets out an inhumane sound, eerily resembling a snarl, and suddenly starts toward the hall that I'm in. Gasping quietly, I go to race back to my room, but he's already standing there in front of me, his frame quivering as he glowers down at me. But when I lift my eyes to meet his, any sign of rage instantly vanishes from his features and is replaced with all sorts of emotions that appear so quickly I don't catch them all: bafflement, awe, adoration, curiosity, yearning. And so extreme that I can sense it, a distinct calmness is laced into every emotion that passes before him. I'd take the time to be freaked out, but I, too, am feeling those emotions along with him. It feels so beautiful, all of this, so beautiful that it terrifies me.

Shaken, I hurriedly shove past him and scramble into my temporary room. Instantaneously, once he's out of sight, I feel like a huge part of me stayed standing out in the hall with him, continuously mesmerized by him.

What. The. Hell.

**Please review. I want feedback to know I should continue with this or not! Thank you**


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